Her Secret
by Adler96
Summary: Sherlock Holmes survived the Reichenbach fall, only to realize that Irene's secrets did not die with her. Now when his greatest enemy rises in a new form, Irene's secret is the only thing that will save Sherlock's life.
1. Chapter 1: Irene

Sherlock sat in a pattern armchair; amidst the chaos he called order. Mrs. Hudson, although intent on the fact that she was_ not _his maid, had given up her endeavor to tidy up Sherlock's room. Tea cups, some empty and others half full, scattered the floor and table tops. The bed had disappeared under the piles of clothes, papers, and books. But that did not matter to him as he found himself unable to sleep almost every night. Unlabeled flasks sat atop a piano bench where Sherlock liked to conduct his "experiments". He purposely left them unlabeled; it gave him a thrill to combine the unknown chemicals. It terrified John, not knowing if the house would be filled poisonous gas or if it would just explode. Perhaps that is why he was off gallivanting with that girl. Mary, her name was.

The pair had met during one of Sherlock's many cases. The girl had been born in India, her mother died during childbirth, and her father, who was the senior captain of the Indian regiment, had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Mary was sent to a boarding school and eleven years later, she had knocked on the consulting detective's door and requested his services in finding her father. Once the case had been solved, Watson had foolishly and hastily asked for Mary's hand in marriage. Although the girl was smart, she and Watson made an appalling couple.

So here Sherlock sat, alone and dreadfully bored. He thought of tracking down Gladstone to test his new serum, but decided against it. The strength enhancer he had already injected into the dog might affect the serum's results. He groaned and threw his head into the back of the chair. His hand slipped off the armrest and knocked a stack of papers to the ground. He turned his cheek into the chair and looked at his fallen notes. A manila folder caught his attention and leaned forward to pick it up.

It was the woman's folder. She had beaten him once and Sherlock devoted his life to making sure it didn't happen again. Too bad she was always one step ahead of him. He flipped the folder open to reveal her black and white photo. He stared at the picture for a few seconds and then picked it up and tucked it safely away behind the other papers. Sherlock flipped through the newspaper clippings, wanted posters, and wedding invitations; none which had her name on them, but he knew. No one would invite him to their wedding, unless it was John or if they were trying to mock him. She was always mocking him.

Irene Adler had moved to the Americas three years ago, but had returned to London about a year after she left. She had been married six times since she had returned, and each and every time, the groom had lost his most prized possession. Thereafter, Irene successfully escaped the marriage, with both her dignity and stolen object.

Sherlock raised the newest addition to the folder and read the article for the hundredth time. He was not one to exaggerate; he had truly read this clipping exactly one-hundred times. The case seemed simple: Alexander Siciliano, Italian royalty and proud owner of the largest emerald found in the history of man, was engaged to Elizabeth Hopkins. Siciliano's emerald had been stolen and his fiancé had been kidnapped. A ransom note had been left demanding €10,000. Elizabeth Hopkins was no stranger to Sherlock. Still, he found himself in a bit of a predicament: he had no way to prove it was her.

With one smooth motion, Sherlock threw the folder to its original position and stood from the sickly-yellow chair. He threw his coat over his left shoulder and sauntered into the dreary London air. He strolled down the crowded streets and then slipped into a quiet alley way. Pierre slipped out of the shadows as he recognized his usual customer.

"S'erlock 'olmes. 'Tis a pleasure to see you, no?" Pierre spoke in a heavy French accent. He was a short, balding man who Sherlock would normally have no need for. Holmes had caught Pierre stealing narcotics from nearby medical specialists and selling them for lower prices on the streets. Pierre offered Holmes the pick of the lot at inexpensive prices, hoping to keep Sherlock quiet.

"I'm not here to converse with you, Pierre."

"Yes, of course." Pierre stuck his small pudgy hand into his coat pocket and revealed a small brown bottle. "Zere you are Mister 'olmes. Is zere nuzing else I can do for zee famous _inspecteur_."

"That will be all." Holmes gave the man his money and dumped two of the white pills into his hand. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them. Sherlock made the journey home, the glass bottle bouncing in his pocket as he walked.

An American accent stopped Holmes in his tracks. He whirled around, scanning the mass of people. There! The curly brown locks in the oversized hat. He shoved his way through the crowds and followed after the petite figure. The woman paid the vendor for the book she now carried in her arms and turned to leave. She turned left down the street and hailed a buggy. Hailing a cabby of his own, he directed the driver to follow the first. The horse trotted through London for a good fifteen minutes, until it pulled in front of the Grand Hotel.

The occupant of the first carriage climbed from the carriage and paid the driver. She promenaded into the lobby and up to the front desk. Sherlock closely followed; gently lifting a hat off a passing stranger and pulling it low over his eyes. The woman began to talk with the young boy who sat behind the reception desk. Ignoring the starry eyed affections of the lad, she gave him her name and information. Sherlock quietly crept closer to catch a few of the exchanged words between the two.

"Do keep a key to the room for Benedict, he will pick it up shortly." Irene informed the boy.

The boy's face fell. "Ah. Yes, one key for Mr. Humphrey. Will that be all Ms. Humphrey?"

"For now, yes. Thank you."

The boy slid a silver key across the counter. "You are in the master suit on the third floor. Enjoy your stay."

Irene gracefully climbed the carpeted stairs and disappeared around a corner. Sherlock remained focused in the newspaper he had picked up several minutes earlier, until she was no longer in sight. He discarded the hat and newspaper and made his way to the boy.

"You there! Perhaps you could give me the key to my room?" Sherlock spoke hurriedly but the young man made no motion to fulfill his request.

"Good day sir!" he responded, cheerfully. Rather sickening in Sherlock's opinion. "May I ask your name?"

"Benedict Humphrey. My wife said you would give me a key."

"Yes, sir, here you are. You are in the master—"'

Sherlock vanished up the stairs before the boy could finish his sentence. He took the stairs two at a time and took long strides down the hallway. He passed door after door until he reached the only door different from the others. This door was made a dark wood, like the others, but instead of only one door, this had two.

With quiet, steady movements he slid the key into the door and turned it once, twice and the clicking told him it was open. Sherlock wrapped his cold fingers around the handle and pushed it open with the other.

The woman stood with her back to him, staring out the window. Her hat had been removed as had her jacket. Her dress was dark green and flowed across hers skin. Golden buttons ran down her back. She turned as Sherlock closed the door behind him.

"Ah, Benedict. You got my message." She smiled, her lips as red as the carpeted stairs. Sherlock noted it was a nicer color on her than it had been on the floor.

"Irene Humphrey, is it now? This makes it your seventh attempt at a happy marriage?"

"So you did get my invitations. A pity you could never make the ceremonies. I always wondered if you'd approve of them." she sighed. "Adler, Mr. Holmes. I am, at the moment, unmarried."

"Found a way to steal the Siciliano emerald without saying the vows? I should say your gentlemen are getting quite foolish. You shall get no approval from me."

"Is that because they cannot compare to your massive intelligence, or is it perhaps, you've already picked someone out for me?"

"Where is it, Irene? I know you have it here. You would have had no time to dispose of it on your journey from Italy."

Irene walked around the table that sat in the middle of the room. She reached her small hand into Sherlock's front pocket. When she turned away, she held the glass bottle in her hand. She unscrewed the top and poured one of the pills into her palm.

"Sherlock! Pain killers? This is no way to cure your boredom!"

"What makes you think I'm bored?"

"You are far too young to have pain due to old age and if you had injured yourself you would have held the injury with care. At the moment you're slouching, with no concern of your physical health, as these pills uncover. Very unbecoming of a gentleman."

"It's on your dress."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock walked around Irene and began to feel each of her gold buttons.

"I'm going to need more wine before we go there Mr. Holmes." Irene began to turn around but with one quick motion, Sherlock snapped off one of her buttons. He rubbed it between his fingers and the gold paint chipped off revealing a green gem. Sherlock walked to the window and held it up in the sunlight.

"Well done Sherlock. I would ask how you knew but I really don't care. Now give it back." Irene held out her hand to him but he clutched the gem possessively.

"What makes you think I would give it back when you have been absolutely dreadful the moment I walked in?"

"Dreadful? I've been nothing of the sort."

"Tricking the bellboy into giving me a key, lying to me about the emerald, and taking my pills, Irene you've have been very unpleasant. Give the medicine back to me and I will consider telling the police I found the emerald on the side of the road."

"You just know everything, don't you?" Irene put her hand on her hip and glared at him.

"Everything about you? Yes."

She smiled. "Is that so?" She walked around the table again and stood in front of Sherlock. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"You heard me. If you're so intent on the fact that you know everything about me, then you'll know how I will react."

Sherlock Holmes had intended to get the emerald and prove that he was better than Irene. But when he awoke in the morning, as naked as the day he was born, he knew he had been beaten, again. Irene had disappeared with the emerald and most of Sherlock's clothes. Only his jacket remained draped over the chair. To make matters worse, she had taken his small glass bottle with her.

* * *

John hadn't seen Sherlock since yesterday morning. Now he had begun to worry. Sherlock would often disappear only to wake John at ungodly hours to tell him of his latest adventures. There was a hurried knock at the door and Watson heard Mrs. Hudson footsteps walk to the door.

"Sherlock! What on earth are you wearing?" Mrs. Hudson's quiet cry wafted up the staircase. John threw his newspaper to the ground and hurried to see what had her so upset.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the foyer wearing a bed sheet. He had carefully tied it around his waist and his jacket was pulled across his middle, unbuttoned.

"Mrs. Hudson! I have no time for your dilly-dallying! I must speak to Watson."

"What is it Sherlock?" John called from the top of the steps.

"Quick! Fetch me some clothes! The woman is getting away!" He scrambled up the stairs, almost losing his grip on the bed sheet in the process. "Don't just stand there! Don't you understand?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly. By the looks of you, I would say she is long gone." He folded his arms and began to laugh.

Sherlock snorted. "I'm sure your night with _Mary_ went perfectly as planned." He pushed passed Watson and headed to his room.

Watson followed with even steps. "At least I'm not trying to take her innocence."

"There is _nothing _innocent about Irene Adler! She had guilt _pouring _from her fingertips!"

"She's beaten you again hasn't she? What was it this time? Another photograph or perhaps something more?"

"An emerald." Sherlock tossed piles off the desk, looking for a shirt.

"She beats you every time. I don't know why you go back for more. Oh, wait! Yes I do. You enjoy it."

* * *

Sherlock stood on a boat, moving across open water towards Paris. He rubbed her handkerchief between his fingers. Her final breath still fresh on the fabric. Her pressed it to his nose, her perfume still lingered. He felt Watson watching his every move. With one final sigh he released his grip and let it float into the air.

Sherlock Holmes fell through the sky. The roaring water mixed with Moriarty's angry shouts. Sherlock blocked the noise out and began to think. He thought of John and Mary, of Mycroft, even of Mrs. Hudson. But one person haunted his memories. The only woman who had ever beaten him. Watson was right. He did enjoy being beat by her. Before he hit the water he whispered one thing, the last thing he would ever say: Irene.

* * *

"Any attempt at finding the bodies, was absolutely hopeless. And so there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam lays the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. I shall ever regard him as the best and wisest man whom I have ever known."

John heard Mary's calls somewhere downstairs. He finished typing on his typewriter and gathered his things. He left the room toward the carriage that would take them to Brighton, to his new life. He would never forget Sherlock Holmes and he never wanted to.

* * *

Watson sat in the dining room chair in his new home. Mary excused herself from the table; she was not feeling well. He read the morning news and sipped what little coffee was still in his cup.

A knock resounded through the home. John stood from the chair and walked to the door. He opened it and revealed an old man carrying a stack of books. The old man pushed his way past Watson into the home.

"Excuse me? Do I know you?"

"Come now! It hasn't been that long!" A familiar voice seeped through the man's beard. It couldn't be, could it?

The man yanked at his beard and threw it to the floor. His nose and snow white hair shortly followed. In the place of the old man stood none other than Sherlock Holmes.

John gasped and plopped into a nearby armchair. "You're alive!"

"Now Watson. I require your assistance."

"It's not possible. You were dead, but now you're alive!"

"Yes, yes. I'm alive. Now stop giving me that foolish look! I need your help!" When he received no response from Watson he informed him of his trouble. "You know how Irene Adler was always one step ahead of me? Well, when she died I thought her secrets had perished alongside her. But I was wrong! Oh how wrong I was! She defeats me once again, and she's not even among the living, bless her soul. Do you remember that night that her and I shared in the Grand Hotel?"

"The time you woke up naked or the time you woke up naked, chained to a bed?"

"First time. Well shortly after Irene got herself into some trouble. Trouble that she left me to resolve."

"I don't see why you need my help."

"Well, this trouble is a little out of my league. One you will be able to handle by the looks of Mary."

"What is the matter with Mary? For god's sake, Holmes, whatever is the matter with you? How the hell did you survive the fall? Why didn't you tell me you were alive earlier?"

"Enough of your useless questions. Now do you want to hear why I need your help or not?"

"Yes! By all means." Said Watson. "Sherlock!"

"Irene had a…well, she had a…a…baby."

**Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2: Julian

_**~Seventeen Years Later~**_

Julian Dubois stared out the carriage window. Small snowflakes danced across the sky and landed on the glass. Before they could establish a comfortable life, the heat would melt them, returning them to the earth to start the process again. Julian Dubois felt like the snow: never staying in one place too long. Now he didn't want to be misunderstood, he was a very fortunate boy. He wore the finest clothes, handcrafted in France, and he was enrolled in the most prestigious boy's academy in the country. But something inside him wished for a small home in the country with a family that at least noticed him.

Julian's father was very much respected in France but in terms of family, he paid little to no attention to Julian. They met for dinner and just after lunch so that Julian could be tutored on "the ways to be a gentleman". The other two meals and the rest of the day was Julian's to do as he pleased. He would often find a few boys down at the pub in which he could gamble his money away with. And, on the oft chance there weren't, he could always stroll the streets and find an acceptable woman in which to enchant and leave in the morning without a word. Being tall, dark and handsome did have its benefits.

"You know what you're supposed to do. Find the girl, earn her trust and your father will take care of the rest. Just get the girl out of the way." The scraggly old woman that occupied the seat across from Julian spoke with a firm voice.

Julian frowned at her. "I've heard this from my father a thousand times before. I don't need you telling me what I've been told since I was a young lad."

"Well, you've been gallivanting off at every possible moment. I'm very surprised that you could have learned anything from your hours of tutoring."

Julian raised his voice. He would not be talked to in this way. "You are to be my escort and nothing more. I will not be chastised for things you have no knowledge of, and definitely not by a woman. You would be wise to _watch your tongue_ if you wish to remain in your position."

The woman began to laugh. "You naïve boy! It is not up to you whether I stay or go. You see, this whole scheme of things, you, the girl, it is bigger than both of you. You would know that if you paid attention to your father's lessons."

"I would know that if he told me the point of this fool's errand! And at a boy's academy? She can't be a student and a woman teacher belongs in the spot of a governess, nothing more."

"The world is changing, Master Julian. Perhaps one day the most prestigious teachers will be women. After all, Anna has proven more intellectually minded than most of her male peers."

"She's a student?"

"Now, young Master Dubois, I suggest you get that attitude in check if you want to succeed. I seriously doubt your father will be sympathetic if you fail."

The carriage came to an abrupt stop, sending Julian's face flying to his legs. He gripped the handle of the door and prevented himself from colliding with them. The driver leaped from where he was perched and walked to Julian's side of the carriage. He pulled Julian's door open and waited for the young gentleman to exit the carriage.

"Jasper! I hope for you sake that there is not a single mark on my face. You will learn to correctly stop the horses by the time I get back."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir."

"I won't tell my father of your ignorance this time, but don't think I won't if you do it again."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Julian ducked his head and stepped into the cold morning air. The Bertrand Academy for Boys, was not much to look at. It was made of bricks like any of the other schools he had seen. The courtyard bustled with boys of all ages, but each one contained one of the brightest minds London had ever seen. Of course somewhere among these boys, was a girl. One who would make or break Julian's credibility in his father's eyes.

After hours of grueling tests, Julian had finally made it into the school. It was a wonder how a simple woman could have done it. She probably had a rich family that paid the school off. Jasper disappeared around the carriage and returned, carrying Julian's bags. With long strides, Julian walked to the black gate that stood open for his arrival. The headmaster stood at the entrance along with three other elderly gentlemen. Each wore long black robes with red fabric tucked into the collar and down their chests.

"Julian Dubois, I presume?" The headmaster's voice was deep and the monotone rhythm made Julian realize how long the journey had really been.

"That would be correct." Julian smiled and gestured to Jasper, who stood obediently behind him. "Will you be taking my bags?"

The headmaster scoffed and Julian felt his energy renewed. If people were this easy to play, he was going to have a grand time. "No, no! We will let your guide show you where to put them."

"My guide?"

The headmaster slid to his left and revealed a much younger man. He was taller than Julian and his short red hair blew in the winter wind. His jaw was sharp and his cheek bones were strong. He held himself with pride and nodded his head in greeting.

"May I introduce Charles Watson. He is the head of the anatomy and physiology department and at only being a junior, he is the youngest to have ever held this position. He will be your guide around the school for the next few days. If you need any help at any time, Charles will assist you." With that the headmaster turned and, closely followed by the other teachers, disappeared into the school.

"So, Charles, is it? Show me to my room." Julian lifted the bags that Jasper had set on the icy ground. He held them out to Charles and looked at him expectantly.

"I hope the headmaster did not confuse you. I am to help you, but I am by no means your servant." Charles turned his back and left Julian standing in the gateway. A few of the nearby boys snickered.

With a scowl at Charles he ran to catch up with him. "Are the rumors true?"

"Rumors?"

"About there being a girl that studies here."

"Ah! You mean Miss Watson. Yes, she is a student here. One of the best we've had. I expect no ill treatment of Miss Watson. Do you understand?"  
"Watson? A relation of yours, I presume?"

"Yes, my sister."

"Is there anything…unusual…about Miss Watson?"

"No."

"Can I call you Charlie?"

"Only if you wish receive a black eye."

Julian followed Charles in silence for the rest of their journey. He was getting nowhere with this buffoon. Something was strange about this 'Miss Watson', that Charles wasn't telling him. He could see it in the man's face. This may be more difficult than Julian had expected.

* * *

Charles Watson led Julian through the large, dungeon like school. He stopped at a door and turned to look at Julian expectantly.

"Your room, your majesty." He gestured to the door in a long sweeping motion.

"So you're allowed to make a fool out of me, but not the other way around. Is that correct?"

"You are the new chap around here. You are bound to be the butt of everyone's jokes for about a week. I'm just getting you used to the idea." His voice was light, humorous, but his eyes were dark.

Julian slipped past Charles and turned the golden door handle. Julian had expected a small room with not much more than a bed and place to store his belongings, but this? This was not acceptable.

Julian found himself in a large room, much larger than his room at home. Along the walls were rows of identical beds. Each was covered by a brown blanket and a flat pillow carefully placed at the head of the mattresses. Each bed was accompanied by a wooden chest, each about knee-high and nowhere near perfect condition.

"Right. So that is your bed in the far corner." Charles pointed to the bed. "You will only be allowed to keep what fits in the chest. Any other items may be sent home as requested. Breakfast is at seven by I suggest you be awake by five. You will not get breakfast until your chores have been completed."

"Chores?" Julian dropped his bags onto the bed.

"Yes. Your bed will be made in the condition you see it now. If there is so much as a wrinkle, you will make it again. An attendant will assign you a room to tidy in the morning. It, too, will be in tip-top condition. Your chest will be checked as well."

"Am I allowed no privacy?"

"It is not so much about privacy as it is about cleanliness. We had an incident with hoarding a couple years ago. We couldn't get rid of the ants for another six months."

"So, Charles, which of these beds is yours?"

"I have a private room in the east wing."

"Daddy's paying off the headmaster is he?"

"By no means. Doctor John Watson is one of the most respectable men I know. In this academy, privileges are earned not bought as you seem to be used to. Once you prove your value, you will be given a private room, but not until then." He turned to leave.

Julian shouted after him. "And how do I prove myself? I would like to do it rather quickly. I'm sure you understand, being the son of such a well known doctor."

Charles shoulders stiffened, much to Julian's pleasure. "That is for you to find out. But I warn you; it does not involve my sister. Should I find that Miss Watson has been pulled into your schemes, sleeping in a private room will be the least of your worries."

With long strides, Charles left the room. Julian smiled and then began to laugh. He pulled his bags onto the floor and threw himself on to the bed. He grimaced. Julian would not allow even this rock hard bed to damper his thoughts. Things were going splendidly. With a final chuckle, he slid his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

"Let the games begin."


	3. Chapter 3: Anna

Julian stared at the grey sludge in his bowl. His first morning in the Bertrand Academy had been absolute hell. The boy that slept in the boy next to Julian's was no more than fifteen years old, but he cried like he was seven. At first he thought the boy was missing home but when the smell of yesterday's dinner wafted to his nose, he realized how many of the other boys were whimpering and tossing in their beds. This should not have been a dorm room; it was a more like hospital ward.

Julian had drifted off to sleep around the early hours of the morning only to be woken by five loud bangs that rang through the hallways. _5 am. _He had made his bed three times before it was perfect according to the attendant and was assigned to clean up his neighbor's semi-digested food. He had stood in a long line, only to have this sickening mush thrown into a bowl and put on a tray.

Now here he sat, exhausted and definitely not hungry. A pair of legs walked past his vision. The owner shuffled his feet and moved quickly. Julian scooped a spoonful of the grey sludge and brought it to his mouth. The feet trudged past his vision again, this time going the opposite way than before. He counted to three and swallowed it, grimacing. It was bland and slimy. Once more, the legs walked past, this time slower.

Julian looked up from his breakfast. "Do you need something?"

A young boy looked down at him. His was short and skinny. His brown hair was close cropped, revealing a deeply defined widows peak. He smiled brightly, the warmth reflecting in his blue eyes. He took a seat across from Julian.

"You're new around here, aren't you? We don't get many new boys, not in the middle of the year anyway."

The boy's jacket was horribly wrinkled. His hair was a mess, the front half slanting to the left and the rest slanting in no discernible way. The only orderly thing about the boy was his chin, strong and prominent. It was a chin that could only belong to—

"You're Charles Watson's brother."

The boy picked at a stain on his sleeve. "Yup! My name is Robert but you can call me Robbie. I'm turning twelve next month! Can you believe it! I know I look a little small but—"

"What do you need Robert?"

Robert looked at his shoes, frowning. "I-I just wanted to meet you. Charles said you had an awfully funny accent. I just wanted to hear it."

Julian stood from the bench and slammed his palms on the wooden table, startling Robert. "A funny accent? My _French _accent is one of the most respectable sounding noises I have ever heard. If Charlie thinks its funny then he has no _taste_!"

A deep voice resounded behind the steaming Julian. "Robbie. Is this child bothering you?"

"No Charles but he is kinda weird like you said. He keeps talking about respectable noises. I didn't think noises could be respectable."

Charles smiled at Robbie and took a seat next to Julian. "Julian, remember that friendly warning I gave you yesterday? The one about my sister? Well, it applies to my brother as well. Do you understand?"

"I am no child. If I heard the headmaster correctly, you are still a year my junior."

"I am the eldest boy of my family and will hurt anyone who tries to hurt them. Now I will ask again, and I expect an answer this time. Do you understand?"

Julian glared at Charles. His "guide" would not be acceptable. He would talk to the headmaster the first chance he got. Through clenched teeth he said, "Yes, I understand."

"Watson! Watson!" A young girl ran up to the table, slipping in besides Robert. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a bun but a few curls escaped, framing her small face. Her cheeks were red and she carried a paper in her hands. "I found it! I found the—"

She stopped and stared at Julian. "A ways from home are we?"

"Pardon me?"

"Well, you're a Frenchman, a very wealthy Frenchman. Your father is well respected and yet he pays you little attention. Of course you would give him no good reason to give you attention. Which bring up the question you've been asking yourself for years: why me? Why did he adopt you if he was going to virtually ignore you?"

Julian studied the girl; beautiful, strong and yet somehow still vulnerable. "Been taking to Charles have we?"

"No, this is the first I've seen of him in three days."

"Yes I see that now. You've been in the town, outside of the academy, gathering information for your investigation. A corruption conspiracy, I presume? The papers you hold in your hand are proof that it is no longer just a conspiracy. A list of names, maybe the invoice of a transaction?" Julian smirked, confident that he had shocked his peers.

And he had. Both Charles and Robbie stopped eating, their eyes widened and they stared at him in disbelief. Miss Watson, on the other hand, remained calm. She eyed him warily; no more surprised by his response as she was by the fact that he was French.

Charles was the first to recover between the two boys. "How on earth! Anna, how'd you know he was adopted? I didn't even… You left long before he arrived so how would he know that you had left long before—"  
"Watson, stop blubbering. It's quite simple how he would know where I've been." Anna shrugged her shoulders. "As I walked in, he no doubt noticed the heavy mud splashes on my boots. The ground here is covered with gravel, keeping mud at bay. The only place I could have received these marks is outside of the academy boundaries. It is the middle of a school year and the headmaster would not let a student travel far, so the village, only a twenty minute journey. As for the papers, they have been written in fast, barely legible letters and yet I hold it close to me, letting few see the contents of them. He would have realized that I have only arrived back about ten minutes ago; the school doesn't open the gates until seven. That would have given me no time to change, and you do have considerable say in the way this school is run. It would be reasonable to assume I would come, immediately, to you with 'corruption conspiracies', as he calls it."

Julian spoke up, "Ah! Well done! Really, though, my background is not a difficult puzzle to solve either. I take great pride in my appearance; my nails are trimmed and clean, my clothes fashionable and neat. Both signs of a respectable, wealthy man. My hair style is very popular in France. My handkerchief, here in my pocket, has the family emblem of the Dubois, a _French_ surname. The only out of the ordinary thing of this whole situation is my dark skin and strong features, both uncommon to Frenchmen. So my father was either a self-made gypsy man or more likely, I was adopted. As for the fact that my father ignores me or the fact that have a self asked question why he picked me, I'm afraid the lady is mistaken about both incidences."

Charles sighed and shook his head. "You two are either going to be the best of friends or the worst of enemies."

Still analyzing Julian, Annie said, "Friends is a strong word."

A gong rang through the dining hall. Charles stood from his chair picking his empty bowl off the table. "That would be the signal for class to start. Anna I'll see you at lunch." Charles left the room, Robbie bounding closely behind.

Julian slid Anna's hand into his own and pressed his lips against it. "A pleasure to meet you Miss Watson."

She pulled her hand out of his. "The pleasure is all mine."

With gracefully movements, she gathered her papers and headed for the door. With a second thought, she stopped and turned her head to Julian. "Oh and Mr. Dubois? I am never mistaken in my deductions."

**Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!**


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